


little remedy

by suckhwas



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: M/M, Making Out, Nail Polish, oh my god they were in the studio, pre relationship?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29954250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suckhwas/pseuds/suckhwas
Summary: Yeosang is just trying to kill time when he asks Hongjoong to paint his nails.
Relationships: Kang Yeosang/Kim Hongjoong
Comments: 12
Kudos: 95





	little remedy

**Author's Note:**

> t for boner implications

“Hyung.”

“Hm?”

“The server is down.”

“Mmh.” 

A pause.

“Hongjoong hyung?”

This time, Yeosang gently jabs two fingers into the soft of Hongjoong’s cheek to get his attention. Hongjoong startles, shaking his head as his eyes refocus on Yeosang instead of the notebook he was scribbling lyrics into.

“What’s up?”

“I said the server is down,” Yeosang gestures at his laptop sitting on the edge of Hongjoong’s desk in the studio, composition software open and buffering with an error message. “I can’t finish the assignment you gave me ‘til it’s back up… maybe we could just take a break?”

“Oh.” Hongjoong runs a hand through his hair, and then stretches his arms above his head with a concerning pop of several joints. “It’s pretty early for dinner…”

“I know, I just meant we could stop for a bit,” Yeosang says. He glances between his laptop and the notebook Hongjoong was writing in, which is mostly crossed-out sentences. “Might be good to clear your head?”

Yeosang can tell his suggestion is cramping Hongjoong’s typical work routine, Hongjoong’s expression dubious as he considers his notebook, his computer, and then Yeosang again, but really, they’ve been locked in a studio for going on three hours now. Software issues are as good a reason as any to stretch their legs for a bit.

“Yeah, alright,” Hongjoong says. “Take five and then we can do vocal practice instead?”

Yeosang rolls his eyes. “A _break_ , hyung. Thirty?”

“ _Thirty_?” Hongjoong repeats, as if Yeosang just suggested he shave his head.

“Thirty, and then we’ll work until dinner,” Yeosang says. He smiles sweetly, and Hongjoong can definitely see through the act. His unimpressed look almost makes Yeosang break with a laugh.

“Okay, fine,” Hongjoong finally acquiesces. He pulls out his phone and sets an alarm for thirty minutes exactly, which Yeosang should’ve expected.

Yeosang thanks him before he bounces out of his seat and out of the room to the vending machines down the hall. The short walk is refreshing, and he does some quick stretches to work out the stiffness in his limbs as he waits for the vending machines to dispense his treats. 

He’s used up just over five minutes of their break time when he returns to the room, arms weighed down with snacks that he deposits on the already-messy desk. He hands an energy drink over to Hongjoong before popping the tab open on his own.

“Take whatever,” Yeosang says, grabbing a bag of chips from the snack pile and retiring to the lumpy couch taking up the corner of the tiny studio space. Shitty old couch still beats the desk chair though, so Yeosang savors the minutes he has to chill and opens a game on his phone.

Hongjoong also stands, stretching and shaking out his limbs, before he’s back in his chair and sipping idly at his drink. He puts his feet up on Yeosang’s vacant chair, puts them back down, readjusts in his seat, and puts them back up in the span of a minute, drawing Yeosang’s attention away from his phone momentarily. Hongjoong scrolls through his own phone too, though one hand taps out an increasingly fast rhythm on the armrest of his chair. 

Yeosang should’ve known Hongjoong wouldn’t actually relax for a moment without a fight. He looks over the messy desk, past the bags of snacks that Hongjoong didn’t touch, to empty water bottles, to various notebooks and scrap papers with notes scrawled on them. There’s a couple bottles of nail polish nestled amongst the chaos. Perfect.

“Hyung, paint my nails,” Yeosang says.

“Huh?” Hongjoong asks. He spots the nail polish bottles on the desk before looking back at Yeosang. “You… want me to?”

“Yeah,” Yeosang says. He tips the nearly empty bag of chips into his mouth to finish the last few crushed bits, before brushing his hands off on his pants and sitting back in the chair opposite Hongjoong. He holds his hands out, spreading his fingers wide. “I thought… if you wanted to do something instead of sitting here waiting to start working again. If you want.”

“Oh. Yeah, alright,” Hongjoong says. He grabs the bottles off of the desk and holds them out to Yeosang. “What color?”

Yeosang picks black, the most neutral amongst his options of a sparkly red and a bright blue. Hongjoong unscrews the top, before placing the bottle on the edge of the desk and taking one of Yeosang’s hands in his. Hongjoong’s hands are soft, warm and maybe the slightest bit clammy from his fidgeting, and his own nails are neatly polished in blue, though it’s started to chip on a few fingers. He readjusts his hold on Yeosang’s hand a few times, eventually taking Yeosang’s finger between his thumb and index finger, the rest of Yeosang’s hand braced against Hongjoong’s. His hands seem larger cradled in Hongjoong’s, and more unkempt with the occasional torn cuticle and bitten nail compared to how neatly Hongjoong keeps his own. 

Hongjoong pulls the brush out of the bottle with his free hand, wiping off excess polish with a practiced movement. Then, he’s painting a thick stripe down Yeosang’s nail. 

And his skin, flooding the cuticle area with black polish. Hongjoong gets some on his own skin too, leaving a smear of black on the side of his thumb.

“Shit,” Hongjoong says. He wipes the polish off of Yeosang’s skin with his thumb, getting most of it off but for a final smear near the pad of his finger. He wipes up the rest with a napkin he snags from the desk. “Sorry, not used to painting nails that aren’t my own. Angle’s different.”

“It’s fine,” Yeosang says. He watches Hongjoong readjust his hold again, angling the brush awkwardly a few times before he gives up and shoves it back in the bottle.

“Do you mind if we move to the couch?” Hongjoong asks. “I think it’ll be easier if I’m next to you.”

Yeosang just nods, moving to the couch where Hongjoong sits at his side. Hongjoong takes his hand again, holding it steady in one hand and picking up the brush with the other. Like this, their thighs are pressed together and Hongjoong is half leaning into Yeosang’s space to best position Yeosang’s hand as if he were painting his own. It’s closer than Yeosang expected, almost intimately tangled together, and his cheeks pink at the proximity.

This time, Hongjoong paints a much cleaner stripe down Yeosang’s nail, neatly filling in the space with a few more brushstrokes. Yeosang watches the way he precisely paints with much of the same focus he directs at his computer screen. It’s mesmerizing to watch him concentrate. When he finishes one hand and releases it, Yeosang lets it drop into Hongjoong’s lap, resting easily on his thigh as Hongjoong wordlessly gestures for Yeosang to give him his other hand.

As Hongjoong starts on the rest of his nails, Yeosang feels himself starting to zone out watching him. Not watching Hongjoong’s hands work anymore, but watching Hongjoong’s face. The bangs falling soft over his forehead, the furrow in his brow as he concentrates, the delicate slope of his nose—features Yeosang knows well from this angle, already used to staring when they’re together in the studio and Hongjoong gets caught up in working on something.

It takes the warmth of Hongjoong’s hands leaving to realize he’s done painting. Their eyes finally meet, though Yeosang looks away quickly. He pulls his idle hand off of Hongjoong’s thigh too quickly to be casual, before he holds his hands out to admire the neatly painted nails.

“This looks really cool. Thank you,” Yeosang says sincerely.

“Of course, anytime.”

A pause. Hongjoong is still leaning into his space even though Yeosang’s nails are done.

“Um—”

“So—”

They start at the same time, before stopping awkwardly.

“Sorry, you go ahead,” Yeosang says.

“No, no, you can go,” Hongjoong says. His tongue darts out to wet his lips.

Yeosang can’t even remember what he was planning to say. His throat is dry. He waits a heartbeat or two, and then he’s leaning closer, slow enough to see Hongjoong’s eyes flutter shut, and their lips meet.

It’s tentative at first. Yeosang feels as though this odd moment will shatter if he pushes too hard, and it’s just a delicate press of lips for a long moment. Hongjoong is the one who finally deepens it, a hand finding Yeosang’s shoulder as his lips push more insistently against him. Hongjoong’s lips are soft, pleasantly warm as they move against Yeosang’s.

Yeosang pulls away. There’s an apology inexplicably at the tip of his tongue, even as Hongjoong had quite clearly kissed him back. He flounders for a moment. “Um—”

“It’s okay,” Hongjoong says. Yeosang has always liked the way Hongjoong seems to understand him without needing to explain himself. 

Hongjoong’s hand slides up from Yeosang’s shoulder to rest gently on his cheek. He gives a small smile, nodding as if in confirmation, and waits for Yeosang to nod in return. Then he’s pressing their lips together again, head tilted so they slide together easily. Yeosang feels at ease again immediately, giving in to the uncomplicated push-and-pull of their kisses, the buzz he feels to be this close to Hongjoong, the shiver that goes down his spine when Hongjoong licks into his mouth with a clever tongue.

Yeosang would’ve imagined—not that he has before—kissing Hongjoong would be fiery, pleasant but much like how he commands everything else in that spitfire way of his. Really, he’s softer than expected, his hands gentle on Yeosang’s face as he holds him close, though his movements are firm, sure of himself as he kisses Yeosang brainless.

The wet polish on Yeosang’s nails frustrates him, making it unwise to grab at Hongjoong’s sweater and haul him closer the way he wants to. He manages by setting his hands carefully on Hongjoong’s shoulders, pulling him in with palms flat across Hongjoong’s shoulder blades. It makes Hongjoong smile into the kiss, everything going uncoordinated for a moment before they can fall back into rhythm. 

He’s not quite expecting the way Hongjoong gently nudges him backwards, but Yeosang goes with it easily, laying back against the arm of the couch as Hongjoong settles over him with a soft sigh. It’s warm, everything is so _warm,_ and it’s comforting as much as it ignites something deeper in his stomach. 

There’s an _mmph!_ muffled between their lips as Hongjoong shifts, his knee coming to rest dangerously between Yeosang’s thighs. A hand leaves Hongjoong’s shoulder to clench a handful of couch upholstery in his fist. Yeosang’s other hand hovers, debating finding a home against the curve of Hongjoong’s ass—Yeosang can’t decide if that’s too forward, though Hongjoong feeling his way down Yeosang’s chest feels _pretty_ forward already.

The alarm goes off.

Yeosang groans as Hongjoong shifts around to free the phone from his pocket and turn off the horrible ringing. He releases his grip on the fake leather of the couch, fingertips unsticking one by one with half-dried, mostly tacky nail polish.

“Oh, shit,” Yeosang says, looking between his smeared fingers and the matching stains on the upholstery.

Hongjoong’s cheeks are flushed, his lips bitten pink and wet with spit, but the stare he levels Yeosang with is pure exasperated leader, a look that tells Yeosang he’ll be cleaning nail polish off of the couch with cotton buds later.

“What am I going to do with you?” Hongjoong pinches Yeosang’s side. It feels like his question is about more than just nail polish.

“Sorry.”

Hongjoong softens when Yeosang leans up to kiss him in apology, tipping his head down with a sigh to meet him halfway. It’s a gentle, chaste press of lips, but Yeosang feels promise in it, replacing the worry that had started to seep in now that the initial moment was gone. Hongjoong laughs sweet and melodic at Yeosang trying to chase his lips as he pulls away.

Kisses aren’t enough to convince Hongjoong to stay on the couch with him now that their break is supposed to be over. He indulges Yeosang’s insistence once more before he stands, stretching his arms and going back to his desk.

Hongjoong clears his throat. “Server’s working again. You should finish that assignment I gave you, and then we can do vocal practice until dinner.”

Yeosang briefly entertains the idea of protesting, but he knows it’s no use. Thirty minutes was already a big concession. He groans instead, laying there as his heart rate comes back down. He finally stands and stretches his back, then inelegantly slips a hand down his pants to adjust himself more comfortably. He ignores Hongjoong’s snickers.

Yeosang sits at the desk with a huff of air. It’ll be a long few hours until a reasonable dinner time—and the possibility of convincing his hyung to treat him. But Hongjoong smiles that bright, sharp smile when Yeosang finally musters the wherewithal to get back to his work, so it feels worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> dont ask me how computers work i just think they should kiss 
> 
> comments n kudos greatly appreciated <3
> 
> find me: [twitter](https://twitter.com/himbohwa) & [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/himbohwa)


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